


Stay or Leave

by XtinaJones91



Category: One Day at a Time (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Crying, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Feelings, Hints of Alvareider, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rehabilitation, Romantic Friendship, but can be platonic if you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtinaJones91/pseuds/XtinaJones91
Summary: Set during the time we didn't get to see post 3x12 Drinking and Driving but before the season 3 finale:In the very early days of his recovery after his relapse, Schneider grapples with a choice.Penelope has feelings about this.Drama and emotions ensue.





	Stay or Leave

**Author's Note:**

> So I only got into this amazing, beautiful, perfect show about a month ago when the new season came out and immediately fell in love with it. I also immediately started shipping Penelope and Schneider. I began this fic before the disappointing, upsetting, heartbreaking announcement from Netflix that they had decided to cancel the show. I knew I had to finish this fic and get it out into the world.
> 
> My thought behind this is that it takes place in likely the first week of Schneider getting and staying sober after his relapse in 3x12 -sometime after Penelope goes with him to his AA meeting, but not much after that. I think they'd both be in a very tenuous place emotionally and not thinking totally straight about certain things. I can also see Schneider going through extreme highs and lows as he tries to find some steady ground and making irrational decisions.
> 
> In my head this is just one moment in a series of moments that could have happened between them in that month leading up to Victor's wedding in 3x13.
> 
> Title is from the DMB song by the same name.
> 
> I am not a Spanish speaker, so please let me know of any mistakes in the few instances where I attempted to incorporate it and I will correct it!

The knock on her door is soft, so soft that she almost misses it. But if there’s one thing she didn’t lose in Afghanistan it’s her acute sense of hearing. Not as good as her mother’s, but still better than most; with two teenagers in the apartment it has to be.

So she hears the faint knock and she rises quickly from the couch to answer the door because there’s really only one person it could be.

She eases the door open and is greeted by the expected sight of Schneider, but also the unexpected (and unsettling) sight of a large duffel bag at his feet.

Her _“Hey, Schneider!”_ dies before it passes her lips and a cold spike of dread shoots up her spine. He’s going somewhere.

Schneider hasn’t said a word. He stands before her, head bowed and shoulders heavy. He seems fixated on his feet, determined to look at anything but her.

She’s still holding the door open, waiting, but he’s not walking through it.

“Schneider?” she asks, voice quiet. Everything is quiet with him ever since he relapsed. She misses the brightness, the energy, the noise.

She’s determined to do whatever it takes to bring it back.

“I….uh…” he begins as he scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes still avoid her.

“I’m...heading out for a bit,” he says, as if he’s just running down the street to get almond milk or going off to yoga class.

The pit in her stomach knots itself tighter. _No no no no no_. He can’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Her hand grips the door, the solid wood the only thing that holds her up and stops her from sinking to the ground.

“What do you mean?” she manages to force out over the lump in her throat.

Schneider sighs and finally lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed behind his glasses, full of an immense desperation, swirling with guilt and sadness. The depth of his pain that she sees reflected there overwhelms her. All she wants to do is take it away for him, to make him stop hurting.

“There’s a place. My, uh, father arranged it. They’re supposed to be good at...you know. _Fixing_ people.”  
  
Every word that comes out of Schneider’s mouth sounds and looks like it takes a great effort for him to say. Just that one sentence seems to exhaust him.

Her hand releases the door and her arms fall to her sides. She wants to reach for him, but she can’t. His stupid duffel bag separates them. And the way that Schneider’s curled in on himself makes her wonder if he’d even accept or want the contact from her anyways.

She has to take a moment to breathe. _In and out, in and out_.

“Where?” she asks, afraid to know the answer.

Schneider’s eyes fall back to the floor. She watches as he gathers himself before he responds, his hands fidgety and shoulders tense.

“North Carolina,” he says, practically chokes it out.

That’s...on the other freakin’ side of the country. A very expensive, several-hour flight away. Somewhere she cannot get to. Somewhere none of them can get to. He’ll be all alone. How are they supposed to help him? Why would he do this? _How_ could he do this?  
  
“Pen?” he whispers.

She staggers back from the door, turns toward the living room and leaves him standing in the hallway. She stumbles to the couch and braces herself against the back of it.

She closes her eyes and inhales. Everything inside of her is in turmoil. She lets it consume her for a moment and then she exhales, forces out the chaos. She needs to be strong right now.

She opens her eyes.

 _No_. This is _not_ going to happen. She won’t let it. She’s going to fight for Schneider like he’d fight for her - like he _has_ fought for her.

She straightens and squares to face him again.

He’s crossed over the threshold now but still maintains his distance.

“No,” she says, voice as determined and steady as she can make it.

“What?” Schneider replies, brow wrinkled in confusion. Her refusal clearly wasn’t part of his plan, if he even had one. She wonders if his original intention was to leave without saying goodbye at all.

“You’re not doing…” she gestures at his duffel, “whatever _this_ is. You’re not going to some fancy ass, high brow detox center - or whatever _mierda_ people like your father call them - in freakin’ North Carolina. Your sponsor is _here._ Your AA meetings are _here_. _We_ ,” she waves her hands at the empty room, “are all _here_ and _we_ are going to help you get better, Schneider.”

“I’m not your husband,” Schneider spits out unexpectedly, the tone of his voice harsh. “You’re not obligated to help me. I’m not your responsibility.”

His back is straight and there’s a spark in his eyes - an angry one, a defiant one, but it’s better than the dull lifelessness that was there before.

She takes a step toward him.

He shuffles back.

“Is that what you think? That you’re an _obligation_ to me? Something I’m forced to put up with?”

“Well...yeah,” Schneider says, voice rising. He throws his hands up in frustration and keeps talking. “I _forced_ my way into your life and you’ve tolerated me and my crap for long enough. It’s time I finally left you alone and handled my own shit.”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing right now. No - she can. This is Schneider the recently-relapsed alcoholic talking, the Schneider that on the inside is a lost little boy tossed aside by his parents, the Schneider that thinks he’s not good enough, not deserving enough of anyone’s love.

“If that is what you think you have to do to get better, if you truly believe this program is going to give you what you need, then fine. Go. But I think you’d be making a huge mistake, one that you may regret for the rest of your life.”

She takes another step toward him.

He doesn’t back away.

“And you’re also so totally, completely _wrong_ about everything else you just said, you _comemierda_ , that I...I don’t even know where to begin. I - I’m sorry that I ever made you feel that way, Schneider, like you are someone I tolerate because I have to.”

Her voice breaks and she swipes at her eyes.

“But that’s _never_ been how I feel about you. Even when you first started barging into our apartment and showing up at dinner all the time.”

She tries to chuckle but it comes out as more of a sob.

“I...I can’t even begin to tell you how much you mean to me, to describe all the ways that you matter to me e _very - single - day_. So no, you’re not my husband, but Schneider - _Pat_ \- you’re still my family. And I will never give up on you.”

Tears fall freely down her face now but she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. She doesn’t have the energy for it.

Schneider stands before her looking both gutted and overwhelmed by what she’s said. Her vision’s blurry, but she’s fairly certain he’s crying, too.

There’s still a gulf of space between them and she hates it.

“ _Lupe_ ,” Schneider breathes out. She’s never heard him say her name that way before - a mix of astonishment, awe, and adoration that fills her up with something that resembles hope (and something else she’s not ready to name). It feels like home.

And then he crosses the room in one stride and pulls her into his arms, wraps himself around her and buries his face in her shoulder.

She’s overwhelmed by him - his smell, his warmth, the thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear. She grips him, curls her fingers into the soft cotton of his t-shirt and holds on. She breathes him in; the familiar scent of his all-natural, eco-friendly detergent calms her.

It takes her a moment to realize the sound she hears is Schneider mumbling words into her neck.

The words are a nonsensical, stream of consciousness mixture of apologies and thank yous and promises in jumbled English and Schneider-accented Spanish. It quickly coalesces into a repeated mantra of _“Lo siento, Lupe, I’m so sorry,_ _perdóname, please.”_

She runs her hands up and down his back, tries to soothe him with her touch because she also can’t form coherent sentences right now and she’s afraid of what might slip out.

Eventually his words stop and his breathing normalizes. He holds her a little less tightly but doesn’t let her go. She continues to rub his back in slow, wide circles, can feel the tension he carries beneath her fingertips.

“ _No hay nada que perdonar,_ ” she murmurs into his chest.

Schneider pulls back and looks down at her, eyes bloodshot and wet.

She reaches up and cups his rough, stubble-covered cheek in her hand, drags her thumb across his cheekbone, soft and light.

“You are trying _so hard_ to fight this, to get better,” she says to him, voice thick from her own tears. “I am so proud of you, Schneider.”

Her voice breaks and she swallows.

“And I will support you in whatever it is you decide you need to do to stay sober. Even if it means _Papito_ and Elena have to Skype you or FaceTime you or whatever it is they do, and _mami_ has to overnight mail you _sopa de pollo_ all the way in North Carolina, and I have to come up with some excuse to have Dr. B send me to a freakin’ random medical conference so I can visit you.”

She sighs and goes on.

“We will all do that for you, Schneider, because we love you and we want you to succeed more than anything. But also because we love you, we’re going to ask - _I’m_ going to ask - you not to go.”  
  
Schneider opens his mouth but she waves him off.

“I know that’s selfish of me and contradicts what I just said about supporting your decision, but I…”

She looks down, pauses, feels a nervous flutter in her chest, chooses to ignore it, and looks back up.

“I really want you to stay.”

Schneider’s mouth closes and his eyes well with fresh tears and hers do the same and _ay Dios mío_ they are both such emotional messes right now. She can’t remember the last time she cried this much over something or someone that wasn’t Victor-related or Victor himself and that’s not a fact she wants to unpack right now.

“Pen…” Schneider whispers. “Of course I’ll stay. Anything you ask, I’ll do.”

She exhales, feels her whole body relax in relief as she sags into him. It’s Schneider’s turn to rub her back comfortingly. His hands are big and warm and make her feel safe.

“It was a stupid idea anyways. You were right,” he says. “I don’t know why I even listened to my father. He’s not family.”

She looks up at him, into crystal blue eyes that are clear and determined and _alive_.

“You are.”

**Author's Note:**

> So the line that popped into my head and started this fic in motion was "I'm not your husband" and things just kinda escalated from there....
> 
> I hope I did these characters justice. They both mean so much to so many people. I've been inspired by the incredible works of this entire fandom. I don't know that I'll continue this piece any further, but I would like to write more about these two.
> 
> Anyhow, drop a line if you have any feedback or just want to chat about your ODAAT-induced feelings


End file.
